


To Protect And Serve

by Cody_Thomas



Series: Minor Deductions [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Age has nothing to do with BAMF ability, Angst, BAMF John Watson, Deity Sherlock, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Johnlock, Godverse Au, Kidlock, M/M, POV Alternating, The Holmes' are Deities, epic misunderstandings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-06
Updated: 2018-03-15
Packaged: 2019-03-27 19:11:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13887297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cody_Thomas/pseuds/Cody_Thomas
Summary: Sherlock is a very young godling who is coming into his power too early, John is eventually destined to be his true devout. But they meet before they were meant to. Sherlock claims John as his own anyway even though he really shouldn't.John, while trying to do the right thing, finds himself wrapped up in things far beyond his ken, and has no idea why this strange and curious boy seems intent on not being more than an arms length away from him ever again. He has no idea of anything that is happening, and especially not the damage it can do to a young god with no other followers, for them to claim you, and then you lose your faith.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this years ago, and now that I have actually started another installment in the same universe, but in a different fandom, I decided to start posting it

Little Sherlock trailed along behind his parents. Mycroft, his perfectly obedient older brother followed behind him, making sure that he didn't wander off. He wouldn't have anyway, the most interesting thing about this place so far was the elements, and how they were arranged, and he was busy cataloguing them as they passed and he touched them: Carbon, Nitrogen, Hydrogen, Oxygen, Helium, Sodium, Potassium, Iron, Copper, Sulphur, Phosphate, Nitrate, Nickel, Calcium, Magnesium, Maganese, Silicon, Zinc, Ammonia, Aluminum, ... They were here on a _vacation_ which basically meant sitting around doing absolutely _nothing,_ ** _on_** **_purpose_** , for ages and ages.

Some of Mummy's and most of Daddy's relatives were going to show up over the next few days for a family reunion, the first one in an age and a half apparently, and a chance for everyone to catch up with people they had lost touch with over the years and make new connections with people they had gotten along just fine without until now, and meet everyone's newest kids. But Sherlock absolutely  _ hated _ the idea of socializing and playing nice with people he had barely, or never even met before just because they happened to have a few bloodlines in common, it was absolutely tedious. Sherlock truly thought he was going to die of boredom before all was said and done with. Perhaps he could figure out a way to make them cut the trip short, although in all honesty there was nothing much for him to do back home either, but he liked the idea of home much better than here. Even if it was pretty right now, all of the  _ people _ and their boringness and stupidity would ruin it.  
  


The view was nice enough, and they had a house right on the beach. He liked the sound of the ocean waves on the sand, it seemed to soothe his thoughts, the deep repetitive motion, never the exact same twice in a row, but constant enough to set him almost into a calm trance. He made his escape as soon as everyone was busy unpacking their things and made straight for the water, though he didn't go in, even he knew that would be a bad idea that would get him into a lot of trouble. But there were some interesting shells on the beach that he picked up and stuck in his pockets, he liked the feeling of the beach sand, and he could feel both Gaia and Poseidon, here where the earth met the sea and he said hello. He lay down next to a palm tree so he could play with the shells he had found, and listen to the soothing surf. He had a very in depth conversation with a small hermit crab about how wise he was to have made his home next to the sea so he could always listen to the waves, they were almost like music in a way, weren't they?

The sound and the warm afternoon and the peace of the island eventually worked their magic, and before long Sherlock was falling fast asleep in the shade of the palm tree. He felt warm, gentle arms pick him up and hold him close to a very familiar heartbeat that was as steady as the earth, and felt a kiss on his forehead, and smelled the soft floral and ivy scent that he knew so very well and unconsciously drew closer to right before he fell completely unconscious, being rocked in time with the waves.  
  


**************************************************************************

Mycroft of course went after his wayward little brother very shortly after he left, before their parents even noticed he was missing. They would rightly assume he was with Mycroft, whom they had asked to keep an eye on Sherlock, since Mycroft seemed to always be able to find his hiding spots, and follow his little brother's rapid fire train of thought best. Sherlock was obviously wanting to be alone for a bit, the journey had made him tired, bored, cranky, and restless, and he'd probably been holding onto his venomous tongue by an exceptionally thin thread. In fact he was surprised there hadn't been an outburst already. There was very little physical danger to be found where they were, but Sherlock always seemed to have a knack of getting into everything he wasn't supposed to, just because they were the more interesting places to go, and getting himself into trouble because they were the most intriguing things he could find to do.

Their parents found it very distressing that Sherlock was so adventurous, but he would keep an eye out to make sure Sherlock stayed out of danger, though he would stay at enough of a distance to let his brother think he had gotten away with slipping out from under their noses unnoticed. The last thing he wanted was for Sherlock to get in one of his Black Moods while they were on holiday. The boy was extremely clever and fiercely independent, it was sure to cause their parents an endless amount of grief over the fact, their Mother being all about peace and unity in the home and their father about strong family ties, neither of which would interest Sherlock, now or ever. The boy courted adventure and trouble the way some courted their sweethearts. It was a blessing of sorts that Mycroft could play to both sides, well any side he wanted to really. His talent was in seeing those ties that motivated and drove people, strengths and weaknesses, and then using them however he wished. He was already studying politics, a fact which made one of his uncles extremely happy.

It didn't take too long to spot Sherlock a ways off under a tree, talking to something in the sand. He didn't approach, the boy was obviously just fine. He watched him from a distance, and when it looked like he was falling asleep, he drew close. But another came from behind the tree and approached his little brother and it took Mycroft off guard. His immediate protest stopped as he recognized the person bending over his baby brother and picking him up to cradle gently in her arms, placing a kiss to his forehead. Mycroft needn't have worried, there was no safer place in all the world then where Sherlock was right now.

" _ Bisnonna _ ." He murmured respectfully and bowed slightly to her. She smiled at him in acknowledgment and then sat with her back against the tree with Sherlock in her lap, rocking him gently to the sound of the waves, humming a lullaby that she had sung to her own children when they had been babes themselves. She was Sherlock's favorite relative, the only one he really seemed to trust. His only explanation for how much he adored the woman was "Because she's Real." No one else got it, but she apparently did, and Mycroft had a sad suspicion that he knew too, even though he hadn't said.

Several expected Sherlock to become a scholar with his quick wit and all seeing eyes, or were pressing for something with the arts, since his skill with the violin was becoming something of a source of personal pride in their family, almost all of them wanted a return of the Classical Age, before things like Rock ‘n Roll, and other 'terrible forms of discordant noise' had seemed to take over the world. So every time the immediate family got together, Sherlock with his Violin were trotted out and all of their other musically inclined relations would play for the family. It was the only thing Sherlock didn't mind doing in respect to his relations. And the music they made spoke to the Soul. But Sherlock had told him he didn't like music to create something beautiful, he liked it 'Because it couldn't lie' and 'It speaks true even without words'. He also liked that it could easily be translated into mathematics. Hardly comforting notions from someone of Sherlock's young years.

Everyone said Sherlock was too young yet to truly know his Talent, or his Path, these weren't the Old Days after all where belief was strong, and you were born knowing your Purpose, so they tended to manifest much later, since you had to work for recognition these days. But Sherlock was nothing if not a prodigy, and Mycroft, able to see these kinds of patterns, knew it would most likely take the form of an Absolute, a minor one if he was lucky, but most likely a Science of some kind, perhaps Chemistry, or Physics. Either of which would grant him several followers, but also had the potential to turn his baby brother very hard and cold, or worse, tear him into madness, half of himself extremely strong, and the other half eternally vulnerable, since these days the Sciences seemed to go against their natures to a degree, because some silly humans had decided Science and Religion had to be mutually exclusive to each other, and therefore there could be no 'Gods' in Science. And since they themselves were nothing if not for human belief, it had become a rather weak truth, but a Truth nonetheless. It's true these were not the Old Days, but part of Mycroft wished they were, if only for Sherlock's sake and nothing else.

He returned to the house, his parents went wide eyed upon seeing him without a tag along.

"Where's your brother?!" his parents asked in unison. Mycroft fought not to roll his eyes, as if he'd allow something to harm Sherlock, or intentionally leave him somewhere unattended.

"In the copse of palms with  _ Bisnonna _ , he's sleeping. She seemed unwilling to let him go, but was in a fair spirit and I decided not to press the matter."

His Mummy sighed and nodded, looking out towards the trees.  _ Bisnonna _ had her moods too, but no one could dispute the fact that she would never let harm come to Sherlock. Mycroft unpacked his possessions into the room he would be sharing with Sherlock, and did the same for his brother's things, who wouldn't bother otherwise no matter how long they were there. He placed the Violin case on the dresser where Sherlock was sure to see it easily, then set about finding the book he had been reading, and taking it and his afternoon snack out onto the patio to enjoy the fresh air and sunshine while he read.  
  


**************************************************************************

It was two days later and relations were still pouring in for the celebration starting that night. Flights were coming in every few hours, and a ship from the mainland was coming twice daily with more people. They were almost fully taking over two of the island's largest hotels, which happened to be right next door to each other, and though the staff at the resorts had ample warning about how many guests to expect (up to 6,000), even going so far as to hire additional people to make sure they could handle the influx, they were also unaccustomed to having so many of their patrons be extremely high maintenance all at one time. The larger of the two probably had it worse, it was where all of the special dietary requirement ones were going because it had convention and conference spaces which were being taken over for the reunion itself, and had the added benefit of also being connected to a huge industrial sized kitchen that was now taken over, stocked, and staffed by their guests own personnel and chefs, temporarily converting a large ballroom into a 24 hour buffet where you could literally have just about anything your discerning palette desired.

Though this reunion had been in the planning stages for 3 years, and the hotel had been given a year and a half notice of what to expect (for the most part), one could only imagine the reaction they had a week ago to the delivery of an entire cargo ship's worth of cattle, sheep, deer, pigs, chickens, geese, turkeys, pheasants, guinea hens, rabbits, peacocks, and even some crates filled with snakes and doves, all still alive and waiting for when the kitchen was ready for them. A ten acre plot in the rear had been set up just to house and care for them until that time. Twenty-five huge air conditioned shipping containers held a shipload's worth of fruits, vegetables, grains, cheeses, eggs, seafood, herbs, spices, and specialty foodstuffs that had arrived the day before. Another ship had arrived absolutely stuffed to the keels with beverages, mostly huge wooden barrels of beer, wine, and other alcohols, though there were two confirmed shipping containers full of sodas and juices too.

The Holmes family's decision to use one of the beach houses was turning into quite the wise decision, where the staff remained pleasant and unstressed for the most part, being as they only had twenty houses, all filled, but with people who were not nearly as picky or filled with self importance as some of the others.

Little did anyone realize just how much trouble was headed their way.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Troubles abound and first meetings don't exactly go the way they should.

John Watson had never been to an island before, in fact his parents had never really been able to afford to take him and Harry on a really nice vacation anywhere before. His parents were doing their second honeymoon and they actually rented two adjoining beach houses so they could have their privacy. Harry had her friend from school along to do things with, which according to her was a lot of sitting around on the beach, but none of his own friends had been able to afford to come, so John was allowed to go off on his own. John loved it, he was so excited that he barely wanted to sleep when they had gotten in late yesterday evening, he wanted to explore every inch of the island, get to know it top to bottom and he only had a week and a half to do it. He had a few full day hikes planned and even a couple of overnight expeditions as well.

He clipped his twenty mile range walkie talkie to his rucksack shoulder loop after making sure it was tuned to the right frequency and working, double checked to make sure he had all of his gear, his camelbak filled, terrain and trail map, fully stocked first aid/ emergency/ survival/ and poison kit, climbing gear, camping/cooking set, wet gear, fire starter, lights with extra batteries, tool kit, information and entertainment packet. Then of course trail and meal rations, blanket, towel, and extra clothes, all in waterproof baggies. He had his binoculars, the smallest handheld camcorder on the market, Swiss Army multi tool, animal repellent, survival saw, compass, and watch on his belt, and his walking stick. It was a much heavier pack than he needed, but that was the point. He was trying to get used to carrying a heavier pack so that he and his dad could go on much longer hikes together. They had plans to try and do the full Appalachian Trail when John graduated second form. He'd done scouts since he was four, and his dad was a Royal Marine Commando who was really big on camping and survival stuff, so John knew how to do everything he needed to on his own.

"I'm off out! I should be back before full dark, check ins on the hour, starting true east from base, then into north by northwest in a looping crescent on the way back to keep the radius true. I'll call if I decide to go far or want to do rougher terrain. Bye!"

"John wait! Your father and I have a present for you." His mother said.

John's dad held out a black box. "We're very proud of you for getting your first aid and CPR certifications, and your grades this year were excellent too. Keep up the good work son, we know you'll be responsible with this, and remember that it's a tool, not a toy."

Johns eyes widened as he opened the box. It was a real tactical survival knife, the blade was high carbon stainless steel, seven inches long, bowie style with a saw blade on the back edge, the black handle had a rope/ belt cutting notch, the pommel had a glass breaking tool, and the sheath had belt loops and a strap so you could wear it on your leg too. "Whoa." he stood there for several moments just admiring every bit of the beautiful blade. It was hefty, but not too heavy even though he wasn't full grown yet. A blade that he could grow with, a blade that would help him get stronger. It was perfect.

"There's also a small survival kit in the handle. Take good care of yourself, John. We think you've proven yourself responsible enough to have a real knife on your own, don't let us be wrong alright?"

John nodded sagely. "Thank you so much!"

"You're welcome, now go have fun, we'll hear from you soon."

He hugged his parents and strapped the sheath onto his belt before heading out the door.

The island was roughly oval shaped and about ten miles end to end and five miles across, however the actual amount of land was more than triple that due to most of the island having mountainous hills and a huge inactive volcano on the eastern side towards the middle, and they were on the western side of the island. The climate was sub tropic with rainforest all around. John set off to explore.

  
  


************************************************

  
  


Sherlock had kept very close to his  _ Bisnonna _ when he had to be out and about with his relatives on whatever pointless tour, attraction, or outing they'd had planned for the past two days, and now it was going to be an entire two week long convention of relatives he had to look forward to from all over the globe and other places beyond. He also absolutely  **_HATED_ ** the fact they were almost all in disguises or going by false names or titles, and only for the benefit of the mortals at that.

But he could barely focus on that, since this morning he kept feeling a pull inside of him, a deep desire to go to the other side of the island. He felt itchy in his skin and sitting still was almost unbearable to him. There was something he had to see on the other side of the island, something for him, and he had to get to it.

It was 8 hours before the party, and Sherlock Holmes decided to run away. It wouldn't be easy to avoid or lose Mycroft, who had been set to mind him while everyone else was busy getting ready for the big celebration that night. They were at the big hotel, and everyone was rushing around, ordering around huge amounts of staff or just doing the work themselves. Mycroft wasn't very fast, and he wasn't good at running or climbing, where as Sherlock was very good at both. Now he just needed to make sure that Mycroft couldn't quickly summon others to catch him. They weren't dressed in best clothes yet, so all he had to make sure of was not to hurt his hands, Mummy would get very cross if he was caught and then couldn't play the Violin. He wouldn't be gone too long, two or three hours maybe, he just needed to get to the other side of the island and discover what was waiting for him to find it. He'd be polite, it was rare for him, but he had been told to be on his best behavior, so Mycroft would take it as that. He tugged on Mycroft's trouser leg.   
  


*************************************************

 

John wasn't sticking exactly to the path he had been wanting to, mostly because the closer he got towards the volcano, the more he just wanted to walk straight over to it. After the fourth time he found himself readjusting his position, he finally gave it up as his intuition trying to have him either avoid trouble or come into contact with something. He clicked the walkie talkie.

"John Watson checking in with Base, please respond Base."

"This is Base, everything going well John?"

"Just fine, need to confirm a change of route. Current location is a line distance of approximately 4.68 miles, walking distance of 6.2 miles due East from Base at an altitude of 440 feet, at a location listed as Devil's Snare, to be heading directly north by northeast towards the southwestern slope of the volcano. I am officially off path and following land slope not direct line for ease of movement, but am under canopy so daylight is impeded, how's the weather holding up? Over."

"Clear and calm for now, and there should be approximately 3.5 hours of fully visible daylight under the canopy left. Base sunset is at 7:42 PM with full dark by 8:34. Confirming projected path is from Devil's Snare to southwest slope of the volcano, at a line distance of roughly 2 miles for a combined line distance of 6.7 miles away, copy?"

"That is correct Base, path should be more steep and hilly than current path has been, but not overly advanced terrain. Estimated combined walking distance out from Base due to terrain is 9.75 miles total. Over."

"Then you have a go to change of route, as long as you take marked paths back. Volcano Ridge Trail is the most direct way back. You will be arriving after dark. Over."

"Copy to that Base, returning via Volcano Ridge Walking Trail with a marked distance of 7.25 miles from volcano meet up to trail head, and another .75 miles from trailhead to Base for a total walking trip of 17.75 miles. Return time projected at around 9:50 PM unless I get too tired, in which case I will make camp after nightfall. Overnight gear is present. Current time is 3:37 PM, next check in will be at 4:15 PM. Over."

"Copy that. Verify camp setup or return upon arrival at the volcano. Base over and out."

"Copy. John Watson over and out."

  
  


************************************************   
  


Mycroft turned to his little brother when he felt a tug on his trousers. "Yes?"

"I have to get out. I don't want to be in trouble, and I'll be mean if I stay, so can we go?"

Mycroft looked down at him, it was polite for Sherlock, and the boy had been irritable and antsy all day. It was rare for Sherlock to be polite unless he really wanted something, though.

"And where would you like to go?"

"I don't care, anywhere that isn't here or so crowded with stupid and pointless moronic-" he paused and took a couple of very deep breaths, just barely controlling his almost legendary temper. "Aren't there walking trails around the hotel? Or we could even go back to the house, I don't care. But we aren't needed here, so what's the point of us staying in the way? And if one more person almost steps on me I'm going to kick them in the shins hard as I can and I don't care if they are relatives or not!"

Mycroft almost chuckled, but Sherlock was right, they were just in the way here, and Sherlock was doing his best to try and behave, they had told him before to ask for help if he was about to lose his temper somewhere in public so they could try and get him away. It wouldn't be good to ignore him when he had finally asked for that help.

"Alright, let's just tell Mummy and Dad we are going so that they don't worry. Come on, take my hand, I don't want to lose you in this crowd."

Their parents were soon found in the main dining room and informed that they would be taking a walk and then probably returning to the beach house for awhile. They would see them there when they came back to change for the party and then all come back together. Course set, he took his little brother's hand and led him out of the hotel. They did walk for about half an hour behind the hotel, it was easy trails, nothing too strenuous, meant for pleasure walking. There were other trails he knew, ones that required scrambling up rocks or even ropes and equipment once you got onto the volcano proper. But even this gentle curving slope was not much to Mycroft’s tastes, he wasn't a huge fan of exercise, but knew it was good for him, if only so he could try and keep up with Sherlock. The boy had brightened the moment they had started heading away from the hotel, and now he was enthusiastically tugging on Mycroft’s hand trying to get him to go faster. Mycroft released him so that he could explore a bit more.

"Stay close, and don't wander too far."

Sherlock examined a leaf. "Mycroft, what's it mean, when your skin feels too tight and itchy, and you feel like you are being pulled somewhere but you don't know why?"

Mycroft startled, Sherlock was feeling The Pull already? Here? He was too young! He didn't even have any kind of manifestation yet, he had to get Sherlock out of here, they couldn't meet, not yet, it was too soon, it could hurt Sherlock badly if he was rejected. "Where are you feeling pulled towards?" Not the beach house, not the beach house, if he could get him there, he could contain him, make sure this didn't happen. His parents wouldn't forgive him if Sherlock become Heartsore because of rejection to someone who couldn't possibly understand.

"Earlier it was the other side of the island, but now it's the volcano. Why? What's it mean? Is the Heart of the Island trying to say hello?"

Mycroft blanched, they were heading straight towards the volcano. Time to lie. "I doubt it, the volcano isn't awake. Not all of our kin pay attention to bloodlines you know, the elementals for instance often try to draw young people away to eat them, and a godling would make them quite strong. The fae folk are well known for their kidnapping tendencies, and even though this isn't their territory they could be drawn towards such a large collection of power. Come on, let’s go back to the beach house, it's not safe here."

But the second he took Sherlock's hand the boy drew back with a cry as if burned. Sherlock stared at his hand, then at Mycroft's face. His look turned hard, and his Aspect came upon him.

"You're lying. I  **know** that you are lying. I am Truth, and Discovery, and you dare lie to my face?!"

SHIT. No wonder Sherlock had been so surly this trip! He was manifesting, at half the age for it. Mycroft couldn't do this alone, he needed help, NOW. His own manifestation was just barely beginning to show signs of coming around, he had no way to control Sherlock, he had to get him back to the others.

"Sherlock, Sherlock, listen to me, I'm sorry I lied. I was just worried about you. I know how you like to run straight into trouble if it seems interesting enough. There  _ is _ something calling you, but it's not the right time to find it, it can be far too dangerous for you right now. It can hurt you, you are much too young and your aspect is manifesting. We have to go Sherlock, now. I can't help you on my own, we have to get you to Mummy and Dad and  _ Bisnonna _ . They can help you. We have to go, now."

"What. Is. Calling. Me?"

He couldn't lie, if he lied, Sherlock would never trust him to go back. He was a barely manifesting politician, alone with a very powerful godling of Truths that he had to manipulate back into safety away from one of his very strong future followers with words alone, because he couldn't overpower him. He couldn't even  _ touch _ him. Could this situation GET any worse?

"If I tell you what it is, will you PROMISE to come back with me? I want your solemn Vow, God of Truths, to only take the knowledge and no action at this time."

The blow took him completely off guard and he went flying clean off his feet and landed in the dirt barely able to breathe.

"I make no pacts with Liars and Manipulators, Oh Silver Tongued Truth Twister. You shall get no bargains from me." And with that Sherlock ran into the jungle and disappeared.

Mycroft tried to regain his breath, then picked himself up and ran back towards the hotel. They were going to be at odds with each other, he could already see it. They would never be close again. Sherlock would never take his hand, or curl up in his lap for a story, or drag him off to show him the latest interesting thing he had found ever again. Their aspects couldn't be more at a crossroads to each other. His beloved baby brother was gone, never to return. Sherlock was an Absolute, just as he had feared. Truth, and Discovery of that Truth. He would have to move out, possibly in with their uncle so that Sherlock could stay with their parents, he was too young to be on his own. His parents hearts were going to be broken at the rift this would cause in their family... This was going to be an absolute nightmare.   
  


*********************************

 

The way wasn't easy, but that was expected, Sherlock went deeper into the trees, not following any path, only knowing that something of his wanted him, and he was obliged to follow and claim it. So he continued, following that pull, allowing it to draw him true, paying no mind to anything else. He felt them, deep in his heart he felt them and suddenly knew it was a person. His eyes went wide and he nearly tripped after the realization. A person that was drawing him near, could only mean one of two things, one who would follow his way, or one who was destined to be with him forever. He ran faster.

********************************

 

John made good time towards the volcano, he found a pretty easy naturally occurring path that led him nearly straight there. He had two more hills to climb once he found a way to get across this river, but should be there rather soon if the path stayed easy. He tied a stone to a rope to test the depth, and started looking for any large stones, shallows, or a fallen tree across.

********************************

 

Mycroft made it back to the hotel, not caring the looks he got, covered in dirt and disheveled and near blowing from trying to run. He had a stitch in both sides, but ignored it as he searched for any familiar face who might help him. The first relative he recognized was his aunt. " _ Minerva Most Wise and Revered! _ "

She spun, shocked someone had used an Epiteth in a near public place, but when she saw Mycroft she rushed over.

"Mycroft, what's wrong?"

"Sherlock, he's Manifested. He's an Absolute, and either his Consort or True Devout is somewhere on the island. He's been feeling The Pull and ran off towards the volcano to find them! Help me, please!"

"Daphne, find his parents, Artemis, bring the hunters together, we have to track him down fast. Mycroft, tell me exactly what he's manifesting as."

"He said he was Truth and Discovery. I wouldn't let any Trickster aspect near him. He touched me and immediately knew I wasn't being honest about why we had to go back and it infuriated him. He was strong enough to send me flying off my feet. He's too young! If he's rejected now... oh gods, please help us."

"We will, I promise. Has anyone seen  _ Bisnonna _ Gaia, or perhaps Pele? If he's gone to the volcano she may be able to Travel there even though it isn't her own. And someone find an Absolute to come along who will be able to touch him. Death or Love preferably."

Those few minutes seemed like an eternity, but his relatives bustled him into a chair and handed him a cool cup of water. His parents were in a right panic when they got there.

"Mycroft are you  _ sure _ he didn't just lose his temper, you know how he gets-" Mycroft cut his mother off with a shake of his head.

"His voice changed, he became formal, his Aspect revealed itself and he addressed me by epiteth only, he also overpowered me, and asked me what it meant to feel like he was being drawn towards the center of the island. I'm sorry, I didn't recognize the signs earlier, I would have never gone off with him alone if I knew he was being Pulled, I'm so sorry."

His father placed a hand on his shoulder. "There's nothing to apologize for, you couldn't have known, he's supposed to be far too young, not like that has ever stopped him before, and we all know how easy it is for him to outsmart us when he has a mind to do so. If I didn't know he was mine, I'd believe he was a scion of Hermes. All we can do now is hope the Hunt finds him before he finds whoever he's being Pulled towards."

A rams horn sounded, echoing through the building and every person present. It rolled and rumbled like thunder, resonating to a place deep inside all of them, the dark aspect most had well in hand for the most part, calling them to seek and search and catch whatever wished to allude them.

A troop of twelve terrifying deities came from all ends, barely holding to their human aspects, flickering between the two, apparitions of the truth overlaid on top of their mundane personas, shadows of their true forms were cast upon the walls now that they had been Called, apparitions of hawks, eagles, owls, and falcons flew overhead or perched upon the shoulders or arms of their masters. Wolves and hounds skulked at the sides of others, small silly lap dogs on leashes had fierce looks and burning eyes, their shadows those of creatures much larger. There were even horses. They may not be on an official hunt, but Deity help any mortal who got in a Wild Hunt’s way.

  
  


**********************************

Sherlock knew they were near, he could feel that he was headed straight towards them and they were headed straight towards him.

" **_COME TO ME. YES! If you are able, I call to you, you are mine. Find me, join me. I want you, you are claimed, my answer is yes. I will be your Purpose, your Truth, I will be your Path. You will never be lost with the light of my Truth to guide you. COME TO ME_ ** ."

He was small and light footed, he darted through the thickest of the undergrowth, where no horse or full grown person could follow. He knew who they would send, but he wasn't going back without his devotee. He was finally past the volcano, the spirit of it had no True Voice, the people of this island were either too few to awaken it or nearly completely gone. Either a story untold to potential now lost, or a sad end to something rather young in the scheme of things. The same would not happen to him, he would be strong, he would be great, so young and already he had one willing to follow him!

**********************************   
  


John couldn't explain his sudden desire to hurry, but he nearly tripped headfirst into the river at the halfway point. A collection of fallen branches and a still live tree had caught on some larger submerged rocks and John was carefully picking his way across them to the other side when he had the sudden urge to run. Run forward and across and deep into the forest again as if something were chasing him. He fought down his immediate instincts and continued across carefully, looking around for anything that could be giving him that feeling.

He made it over and dashed up the hill on the shore, always best to be on high and even ground if trouble was coming, but there was nothing, no animals, no people, not a cloud in the sky, what was even more odd was the fact that he seemed to be drawn even further towards whatever was making him feel that way. 'Danger!' was an instinct he normally heeded at all costs, so if it wasn't that, then what was making his heart pound in his chest, what was driving him forward as irresistibly as a moth to a flame? He had to find out, and started making his way down.   
  


**********************************

 

Unfortunately Sherlock was not very familiar with wild nature or paths that were not smooth, so he wasn't expecting it when the ground gave way beneath him, pitching him down an embankment he couldn't have seen because of the thick foliage, tumbling down and finally landing with a sickening 'crunch' on the rocks at the bottom. Sherlock screamed. The Aspect retreated, his Power and Manifestation were completely forgotten in the face of the extreme pain. He looked down and barely managed to turn enough on the boulder he was on before he got sick over the side of it. He definitely wouldn't be walking on that leg. The sides of the ravine were very steep and made of loose soil. There was no way for him to get out on his own, and no way to continue his search. The Hunt would find him, take him back and confine him, keep him away from the soul that was his because they thought him too young to have it. Sherlock began to cry. He'd failed, he'd come so close to meeting them and he had failed.

*************************************

 

From somewhere in front of him, somewhere very close, John heard a scream. He started running towards the sound. It was maybe five minutes before John got down the one hill and up the next. Peeking over the edge he could see a child of about six laying on some rocks sobbing, with a leg that was obviously broken. He wasn't calling for help, so there probably wasn't anyone nearby. The sides of the ravine were loose, and not good for going down or getting out. He knelt down and went for his climbing gear from his pack.

"Hey there, it's going to be okay, I'm going to get you out, you just have to sit tight for a few minutes okay? What's your name?"

The boy was just staring at him like he had never seen another human being before in his life. John really hoped he hadn't hit his head. He threw a loop over a thick overhanging branch, and secured it to the trunk of the tree, he'd have to harness and lever him out of there.

"You understand me? It's going to be okay. What's your name?"

"Sh- Sherlock."

"Hi Sherlock. Did you hurt anything besides your leg? Can you feel and wiggle your other fingers and toes?"

Sherlock nodded. He was probably going into shock. 

"They're hunting me, they're going to catch my scent soon. You have to get out of here, they'll tear you to pieces!"

"They, who's they?" He was answered by a howl, and then a second, and a third.

"That's 'they'. Most likely Wolves."

 

Wolves? What in the hell were wolves doing out here on a tropical island? It was so not their climate it was pretty much ridiculous. There was a fourth one sounding closer than the others, and John had to admit, it very much sounded like a wolf. Not good. They wouldn't have time to really do first aide, he needed to get them high up a tree and fast. He looked around, but the one closest to Sherlock seemed their best bet. 

John put on the harness, untied the knots he'd been starting at the base, and climbed the trunk to secure the line much higher up, where it couldn't be easily reached by whatever wild dogs seemed to be coming. He secured his pack on a branch, put on the carabiners, moved down a branch so he would have a good place to land when he came back up, and made sure there was plenty of slack to secure Sherlock to him along with another length to be sure.

"Okay Sherlock I'm going to lower myself down there, and tie you to my back. I know your leg hurts, but once I get you up here I can treat that leg and give you some pain killers."

Sherlock nodded and John eased himself down into the ravine as fast as he felt safe doing. He barely landed before he was next to the younger boy, quick assessment showed nothing else immediately broken, only a few superficial cuts on his arms and legs.

"Okay Sherlock, this is going to hurt but I need you to trust me alright?"

"What's your name?"

That threw him for half a second before he realized he hadn't said. "John. John Watson. I'm going to get you somewhere safe okay? You going to trust me?"

Sherlock nodded and held out his arms, John spared him a moment for a brief hug, he would have been petrified and needing a hug for reassurance too.

"It's going to be alright." John said with a smile.

 

John looped and tied the extra cord of rope he'd brought around Sherlock's waist and legs into a quick but functional harness, and made sure it was secure and not cutting off circulation. He attached a carabiner and a secondary lead which he attached to the back of his harness. 

"Alright I need you to hold onto my back just like for a piggy back ride, and I'm going to tie this rope around us so I don't lose you if you accidentally let go. Your leg is going to move, and it will hurt a lot as we climb, but try not to scream okay? We don't want to draw their attention. I want you to take a great big bite out of my shirt instead of screaming if you have to." 

Sherlock nodded and clung to John and sobbed into his shoulder as John pulled him up off the rocks.

"It’s alright, you're doing fine Sherlock. Come on, let's get out of here."

John could hear the dogs or wolves getting closer, they were running out of time. He latched the main rope back into his harness and secured Sherlock tightly to his back, then climbed just about nine feet up before he tied off, pulled up all of the additional slack, took out two portable pressurized canisters, a pair of gloves, and a paper bag wrapped in three plastic baggies.

"Tuck up this leg as high as you can, hold onto this rope, keep your eyes closed tight, breathe only through your shirt, and don't touch. You don't want this stuff getting near anything sensitive, trust me."

John put on the latex gloves, and started spraying. One canister was high powered bear mace, strongest on the market, the other was a natural deterrent of synthesized skunk spray, and he thoroughly scent bombed the path and rocks with them, more than plenty to cover them for a few hours, then withdrew two cartridges that looked like larger metal versions of party poppers and ejected them directly over the rocks the kid had been laying on, dusting the whole area with a liberal coating of his dad’s custom blend of  ‘ultimate tracking animal destroyer’ which was super finely powdered Trinidad Moruga Scorpion chili seeds mixed with a bit of pure capsaicin, more than a deterrent for any mammal hunting them, in fact practically guaranteed to disable any dogs tracking abilities entirely for a full day or more. 

He tucked everything back into the yellow case on his belt and began the rest of the long, free rope climb up into the tree. Luckily the kid barely weighed more than his pack. Another minute and they were safely in the tree with two of the larger branches below them to help hide them from view. He settled Sherlock in a very sturdy crook of the tree, pulled up the slack and bent the branches around them a bit so they couldn't easily be seen from below. He took out his camera, set it to record and peeked it through the leaves just enough to view the site. He needed to see what kind of wild dogs were in the middle of a rainforest.

Only a minute or so later a large pack of about ten wolves, all different breeds, came into the clearing, searching for their trail and going straight for the rocks he had pepper bombed. Just as all but one of them got a good snout full of either mace or chili powder and began whimpering and crying in pain, trying to paw it off but only adding more since their paws now had trailed through the chemicals and powder too, he blew hard into his ultrasonic dog repellant whistle, sending the lookout running away, and their companions desperate to follow him.

"There. That should take care of them until I can get you back where you belong."

The boy shook his head and whimpered, "No, it will only make their owners angry and more determined, they don't like being outsmarted, not at all. They won't be far behind."

"Owners? You're telling me those things were tame and you've got  _ people _ hunting you?"

"Not tame, trained, and yes, they are people. They are a very determined group once they are hunting, usually cutting down anything in their path. They are called the Wild Hunt. Not that I'm not eternally grateful to see you, but they'll be after you once they find your trail."

John heaved out a deep sigh. "I thought this crap was only supposed to happen in the movies."

 

He pulled out the forest camouflage blanket and moved up another level to the Y where the branches of the crown left the trunk. It was wide and flat enough to hide Sherlock. He got him up the next level and laid him down on the piled up leaf litter then had Sherlock curl up as best he could around his pack before covering him with the blanket. He anchored Sherlock to the branch, then John took his new knife and cut several small branches and tucked them around and over the boy. He grabbed the walkie talkie from the pack and then fished the spare out of a side slot, tuned and set it but left it off. He stuffed some rations in his cargo pants pockets just in case.

"Alright, I'm going to pull up all of the ropes, and then hide, but if they spot me, I'm going to run so they don't find you. Don't worry I'll be fine, but if that happens I want you to stay absolutely silent until they are gone for five minutes, and then turn this on and push this button three times fast, three times slow, three times fast over and over for about a minute. You hold this button down to talk. My dad is on the other end. Ask him for help and tell him which way I ran. That's North, that's South, East, and West. My best bet is the river so that's probably where I'd go. Stay right here, do not leave this spot, this is the safest you could possibly be. Tell him you are a tenth of a mile from the river, half a mile from the marked destination, second ravine inland, and exactly what happened. The pack is fully stocked and can last about six days if needed, but he's only a few hours away so you'll be fine until he finds you. Remember, silence is your best defense right now. I'll be back."

John climbed down and untied all of his ropes and hauled them up, then cut some larger branches and covered himself as best he could as he lay along the most sheltered point he could find, and even lucked out enough to have vines and hanging moss near at hand to drape across himself as well. He still had his camera and he trained it on the clearing. Maybe he could catch their faces so the police could locate these Wild Hunt people easier.

He turned the volume on his walkie talkie all the way down but not off then typed out.  _ SOS JW SOS RICO _ asking his dad to Respond In Code Only. It was only seconds later before he got a reply and gave an extremely abbreviated account of the situation.  _ HURT BOY HUNTED HID SOS. _

 

Hoofbeats began thudding through the underbrush. He typed out  _ RS _ in request for radio silence and turned off the walkie talkie just in case. He trained the camera on the opening, hit record and tried to be as still as he could possibly be. moments later riders trotted through. John didn't want to believe what he was seeing. Spears, bows and arrows,  _ armour _ , some men had even donned stag antlers and pelts on their heads. It looked like a hunting party that had escaped from a renaissance faire.

"Trail's fresh, he passed this way not two hours ago." said a very large man in the front.

"No, he  _ fell _ this way not a half hour ago, look at the outlip, it's still crumbling." Said a woman with a bow.

"He got sick after he fell, must have really knocked the wind out of him. No real blood so I doubt he got injured too badly." Said the man with the largest antlers on his head.

"The dogs won't come back through here, they're howling like they're dying, I don't know what's wrong." Called a man coming up from the rear.

"Well I smell skunk, but that's not enough to cause that reaction, and what's a skunk even  _ doing _ on this island?" Asked a man with a hooded falcon on his arm.

The first woman's horse got too close to the rocks and got hit with the chili powder in one nostril when his muzzle brushed against it. The reaction was violent and immediate. The gelding threw her off and went wild, nearly trampling her in the process. She rolled away right into the thickest part of the chemical trap and within seconds was also in agonizing pain and half blinded when she went to wipe the wet muck off her face. "SHIT! Get back! The area's booby trapped! FUCK what the hell is this stuff? ARGH it burns! Get me some water, and catch the horse before he breaks a leg on these rocks!"

John almost snorted. Water wouldn't do shit except to spread it. You needed soap or oil to bind the capsaicin to it, but he figured anyone cruel enough to hunt people for sport deserved to suffer a bit.

"He wouldn't have had anything on him to do this, he's found help." The man with the falcon said.

"Not just help Lelantos, he found his Pull. I'm going to kill that kid when I find him, and I'm going to gut whoever helped him for whatever this shit is and turn their hide into a wine skin! Fuck!"

"It feels like ground pepper seeds once you get past the skunk smell, probably an animal repellent, and if it's affecting you this much, it's definitely what took out the dogs."

"That means a hunter or a camper, and there is nothing else worth hunting around here, so start checking clearings for tents, there must be a campground nearby." The man with the slightly smaller horns stated.

The large man found where John had come from. "Found a trail over here, ground isn't soft enough for prints, but it seems to go towards the river. It will be dark soon and there's no moon tonight, we'll be useless after dark, and can't use fire or we'll draw too much attention, so we have to find them quickly or try again tomorrow. We have to backtrack a ways to get out of the ravine though, the ground's too loose for the horses. Cernunnos, take the ridge with Lelantos and help see if we can track them. The rest of us will split up, half on either side with the horses and follow the ravine out and circle the banks. Pan, find out if they crossed over the river and if so how long ago. Artemis, you want to continue or head back?"

The woman who had gotten caught in the trap growled. "I'll head back with my horse and the dogs. They're less than useless now, and would only alert the brat, and I need to get this stuff off of us. If it's pepper seeds I need milk and oil. If he's been picked up by an adult then they are most likely going to try and contact the police or return him to his parents as fast as they can, which is all the better for us, I can put the guards on watch."

"I'll come with you to make sure there's no more problems. Don't worry, Death will find him soon enough." said the man who had joined them later.

The woman growled. "Let's hope so Nodens, because if Death doesn't find him, I will, and I will not be nearly so merciful."

John breathed a huge sigh of relief as they picked up and moved on. He made sure every last one of them was completely gone before turning off the camera, collecting the moss, vines, and branches that were covering him, and climbing back up towards Sherlock. They were SO camping in the tree tonight.   
  


************************************************

  
  


Sherlock had been stunned. Just when he had given up, the one who had been calling him had found him, and he was beautiful and strong and perfect. Could John be his Devoted and his Consort? Was that allowed? Because he wanted every single part of John to belong to him and no one else. He had already decided he wouldn't share John with other deities either, he was for Sherlock alone. There was so much care and strength in John, and cleverness! He was so very clever with the way he had taken care of the hunting dogs. They were  _ right there _ and they were too confused to find them. Oh it was easy to admit that he was smitten, even with the pain in his leg it didn't really matter because John, John was here now, he was with him and they wouldn't be parted ever again.

He had feared for John so much when he said he might run to keep him safe, he didn't know how to explain the Wild Hunt were only there to fetch him, it's John who would be in danger from them if caught. But his tongue was stuck, the pain in his leg was awful, he felt like he might be sick again, his power kept fluctuating back and forth inside him, and he couldn't focus on anything properly. The whole thing was an infuriating mess. This was his first time with John and there were too many things ruining it for them!

He peeked just a bit from under the blanket as the Wild Hunt gathered right below their tree. John could have dropped something straight on Artemis' head if he had wanted to. Sherlock longed for a big, hairy spider. He was angry at them, and scared they would notice John, and he was in pain, he felt bruised all over. It was the funniest thing he had seen when Artemis got thrown from her horse and fell into John's trap. His John. Oh it felt wonderful to have those two words side by side in his head, he wanted to say 'My John' out loud, and he would, soon.

It seemed a small eternity until John made his way back up. Sherlock couldn't help himself, he wrapped his arms around John and just held him, he'd been so scared, and John had been so brave. He had to get stronger, so much stronger, so that he could protect John instead. He wanted to be a deity that John would be proud to follow, and never want another.

He watched closely as John started talking to his dad on the walkie talkie, memorizing his face, the color of his eyes, the texture of his skin, the shade of his hair. He wanted to know everything about him, the full Truth of John Watson.

It took awhile before he realized that John was setting up to do what he could for his leg. Honestly Sherlock was more curious on why they didn't seem to be in any hurry to leave the tree. Surely there were safer and sturdier places to try and do this, and wouldn't it be easier to find them if the Hunt came back looking for more tracks? But John seemed very confident and calm, he knew what he was doing and Sherlock instinctively trusted that because John wasn't the type to lie. He bit hard into the rolled up towel that muffled his scream as John, without any hesitation whatsoever, lined up and set the bone in his leg as if he had done it a hundred times before. Johns' hands were gentle as he splinted his leg, put an instant ice pack over the spot where the bone must have broken, and gave him, not a pain pill to swallow, but an actual shot in the arm that started working immediately.

"How do you know how to do all this stuff?" Sherlock asked, curious and impressed and intrigued all at once.

"I want to be a doctor when I grow up. My dad's a Combat Medic in the Royal Marines, and he loves camping and survival training, says it makes people think better and get creative on how to use things in ways they hadn't thought of before. He also wants to make sure I can take care of my mom and sister in case something happens to him while he's on deployment. He's been teaching me since I was three, when he let me start putting the plasters on my own cuts after he cleaned them. My little sister is diabetic and she can't stand doing her shots or her blood tests, but she trusts me, so dad taught me how to do them so I could help her till she's bigger. I just got my first aid and CPR certifications last month, and I'm going for the first responder one in a couple of months, that will teach me to use defibrillators and advanced first aide, and Dad's going to teach me how to do blood draws by the end of summer."

"How old are you?"

"Eleven. I'll be twelve next month. How about you?"

"Six and a half. My birthday is January 6th."

"July 7th. Our birthdays are exactly six months apart."

"I feel really sleepy."

"That's the morphine, dad told me how much to give you, he'll be here in a few hours, less if he gets a ride to the trail head. Here, you should get some water and food on your stomach, you were sick earlier and morphine can be very strong. You'll probably fall asleep soon because of the pain killer, so it's best to eat now."

It took Sherlock a few tries before managing to drink from the funny shaped bite tube on John's rucksack that held the water, but he eventually managed it. John gave him granola bars, nuts, and one of his two bologna sandwiches. His first offering, and Sherlock accepted it with a very big grin. John said if he'd been able to make a fire they could have had cooked food, but they had to stay invisible. Sherlock didn't mind. After they finished the food, John unrolled a flat, black, plastic thing on the area they had been huddled in up in the tree, and moved Sherlock into the center of it. He was impressed when it became a shallow walled inflatable raft a minute later after John attached a small electric pump to it. John disguised the sides well with branches and vines and moss, then covered and tied a tarp over top of it to make a shelter. It became downright cosy as John tucked him into a long sleeved thermal shirt from his pack before pulling the bottoms and a jumper on for himself. He then stowed the pack at the end of the raft and climbed in, tucking the blanket over the both of them and holding Sherlock close.

"Don't worry, I'm here, I won't let anything bad happen to you. You're safe with me."

Sherlock smiled. Honest John, that's what he'd call him. John told so many beautiful Truths, they flowed from his lips like sweet little prayers, carrying away the last of the pain in Sherlock's body.

Sherlock fell asleep listening to the sound of John's heartbeat and the sound of tree frogs beginning to chirp.

******************************************   
  


This whole thing felt surreal to John, there was something about this kid, he felt... special, he couldn't exactly say HOW he felt special, but it was true nonetheless. He stayed awake as full darkness came and the tree frogs took up their song. He listened intently to the forest for any sounds of people approaching, he felt safe up there, shielded and well camouflaged. He felt pretty proud of himself, he hadn't panicked, he'd done things right, and help was on the way. John sat there in the darkness and cleaned the blade his parents had given him. Even though the situation wasn't ideal, John was pretty calm. His dad was taking the marked trail so he could avoid the Wild Hunt, and was most likely jogging the whole way. He pitied those guys if they tried messing with his dad, the man would not be merciful, especially to people who liked to hunt little kids.

It was an hour or so later when he heard the owl call, he responded with the same call and waited. It repeated again, much closer this time and he replied. His dad knew the ravine had been booby trapped, so he didn't worry, he drew out his torch and listened for the sounds of underbrush movement, peeking his head just slightly through the canvas at the top of their shelter. He called with the sparrow, and his dad found the tree, the sound of a thrush just below him. John breathed much easier immediately. He nestled Sherlock down into the blanket and then gently crawled out of the shelter. the ropes and carabiners were still ready and he could hear his dad at the tree base even though he couldn't see him. He lowered the harness to the ground and tied it off securely, then repeated the thrush call. A minute later there was a few sharp tugs on the harness and then the line went taut. A warm but stern face a minute later was the most relieving thing John had seen since the whole thing had begun. His dad made it to their impromptu treehouse and John didn't know who was the one to initiate the hug but it didn't matter, they were both clinging to each other in relief.

"It's okay son, you did everything right. How's our patient?"

"Cleanly broken fibula and tibia, already set and splinted, and sleeping from the morphine. I haven't seen or heard any more movement from the hunters."

"Good, very good. Now, you said you had video."

Video watched and sleeping Sherlock examined, his dad had a very impressed look on his face and ruffled his hair. 

"I have nothing to worry about when it comes to you do I? Steady as a rock. You did great John, I'm very proud of you. Now let's call your mother before she worries too much."

Awhile later it was decided that staying was too risky, this would be the first place they would probably check come morning, and the further away they were the better. The river was their best course, the dogs and wolves would still be out of commission for another day at least so they couldn't be tracked by scent, and with the river they could tow the raft with Sherlock in it from the banks, or even all use it, it was sturdy enough for two grown men, so they shouldn't have a problem. The only thing left to decide is if they would take the river downstream to the beach and towards the large hotels where they might find help, but it seemed the way the Wild Hunt expected them to go, or to travel upstream and then cross new terrain back to their bungalow, taking Sherlock to the other side of the island where the Wild Hunt would be far less likely to find them, and then find out the whole story from Sherlock and decide what needed to be done from there. Either way, Hamish David Watson was not going to leave any visible trail for them to follow.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and John each end up hurting each other in ways they never intended to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is some angst in this chapter but I resolve MOST of it by the end.

They ended up going back to the bungalow, but since the Wild Hunt had made it clear they were HOPING that the police or some sort of authority would be contacted, and that it would only help them, they were rather stuck on what to do exactly. The island didn’t even HAVE a hospital on the island, the closest one was a two hour airlift away, and that would surely draw attention.

Sherlock wouldn't speak about anything to do with his predicament, he held to John and just basked in his inner light. But John didn’t understand that he was Sherlock’s now. He kept Sherlock company, but he kept trying to  _ leave _ . It infuriated Sherlock, because he NEEDED him to stay. When John tried to go out hiking for a  _ whole afternoon _ Sherlock MADE him stop and forget about anything else except Sherlock. John belonged to Sherlock now, he didn’t need to go elsewhere ever again. When John's sister and friend seemed upset about how John was acting, Sherlock made them stop noticing John and just go back and do the things they did before. John's Mother got upset at both of her children acting strangely and that meant Sherlock made her stop noticing them and trying to have her distract John's dad without being too obvious about it, because he was far more observant than Sherlock wanted to deal with at the moment.

But finally, Hamish Watson would not be put off anymore.

 

"Sherlock we have to get you back to your family, or somewhere you will be safe, you have to tell me who that is."

"I am safe here, with you and John."

"Of course you are, but your family has to be worried sick about you by now, we have to let them know that you're alright, and our family will be leaving in a few days to go back home, so it's best to get this sorted. Doing anything except handing you over to some sort of authority unless you tell me who I can safely contact to come and get you would be kidnapping, do you understand what that means?"

Sherlock hung his head. "Yes."

"Then tell me who you are safe with, who would make sure that the Wild Hunt doesn't get a hold of you again, so that if you leave us you'll be okay."

"My Great Grandmother, or my parents."

"And where are they?"

"At the hotel, the big one at the foot of the volcano, but it won't come to that."

"And why is that?"

He trapped the man in his sharply penetrating gaze. "Because you are going to forget all about my family and your desire to return me to them. I am John's friend and welcome here, you will not separate us. Swear it."

The man's eyes went unfocused and distant before he nodded a reply. "I swear."

"Let John back in, and leave us alone. I'm not going back. Spend time with your wife."

"Alright."

John wandered back in and Sherlock hated seeing the vacant look in John's eye, but couldn't risk him leaving again either. He was Sherlock's, he had to understand that first. He held his arms out to John. "Come here John."

John obediently came and curled into the bed with him and wrapped the blanket around the both of them. Sherlock handed him the book. "Keep reading to me?"

And John nodded and began reading, not stopping except for the occasional sip of water until several hours later.

"I love you John. I'll take such wonderful care of you, you'll see. As soon as you know you're mine, as soon as it becomes your Truth, I won't have to hold you so tightly.”

John didn't say anything, merely sat there unprotesting. SHerlock wanted John's smile back, and his warmth. He curled tighter into John's arms. John was so perfectly wonderful, he'd never want to leave once he realized the Truth.

“You don't have to fear me John, I won't hurt you, I'll never hurt you, I'll protect you for as long as you live. You can always call to me. I will never abandon you, I swear it. I will never forsake you, you will never be alone.”

Sherlock was half asleep and didn't notice the wasp that was in the room, the wasp that John was tracking steadily with his eyes in silence. The wasp that was now on the bed and crawling towards Sherlock. It registered as harm in his head, and he had been ordered to protect Sherlock from harm. The book slammed down hard, killing it decisively in one blow. The move startled Sherlock, and his eyes grew wide in panic and shock.

  
  


“No! John what have you done?! Now they'll know, now they'll find us! Quick! You have to take me out of here, you have to take me far away. Grab me and your stuff and RUN JOHN!”

But John couldn't carry both him and the supplies in his pack and run anywhere. And it was too late anyway. Thanatos and Bisnonna both traveled straight in past the protections he had raised to keep deities out, and a moment later Morpheus was there too, and John and all of his family fell fast asleep. When Thanatos picked John up Sherlock panicked.

“NO! No don't take him away from me please! He's mine! You can't interfere with him, he's mine and it isn't his time! Don't you dare hurt him!”

Thanatos glared at Sherlock. “Hurt him? I am merely setting him on the bed. It is you who have hurt him, him and his entire family. Do you have even the slightest idea of what you have done? If he is woken without his memory altered, the next soul I will be forced to claim is  _ yours _ Sherlock.”

“Because you interrupted, John didn't understand yet, that he's mine, once he does I can let him go.”

“No Sherlock! You didn't try to make him understand  _ anything _ , you  _ enslaved _ him and his family when they didn't let you have your way. In your heart you KNOW this is wrong. Does this  _ feel _ right to you? Does this feel harmonious? Would you want him like this the rest of his life? Does his mere presence give you strength like this? You are acting like a leech, a false god, and you disgust me.” Thanatos snarled

“I am  _ NOT _ a false god!”

“You directly interfered with a mortal's free will, you  _ enslaved _ five peoples minds, and you, a godling of  _ Truth _ weren't even honest with them about the dangers they thought you were in. What part of that  _ isn't _ the actions of a false god? And don't you  _ dare _ try to defend yourself with the excuse that you told them no lies, willful silence can be just as big of a falsehood and you know it. If Morpheus wakes him up now, and he remembers everything you did to him, what cause would he ever have to trust you? What faith could he ever willingly place in you ever again after how you have abused him and those he loves? He would forsake you, and he would have every right to do so. You  _ failed him _ Sherlock.”

Sherlock was sobbing and clutching to John. That wasn't what he had meant to do, that wasn't what he wanted. He wanted John to be with him, but he didn't want to be a false god, he had never wanted to hurt John or his family. He looked to  _ Bisnonna _ Gaia, she always knew what to do.

“How do I make this right?”

Her smile was sad and disappointed, but her voice was gentle.

“You will release their minds and we will alter their memories, all of their memories. It will be as if you never met. Then, when you are both much older, and ready for it, you can start over again.”

“No! No he has to remember he met me, he has to remember as much of the truth as possible, whatever won't hurt him. He's my true devout and already has my mark. Look at his heart! A false memory won't stick, my power won't let it.”

Morpheus smiled. “Then we shall simply give him and his family a new truth and use it to write over the old one, and blur or remove the things that aren't necessary to have them remember.”

Three hours later the Watson family’s memories were wiped of the control, and certain elements of the previous days were erased. When Hamish Watson came in this time, Sherlock stuck to the script, his family keeping a close and watchful eye on him while invisible in the room.

"There must be someone that you trust, someone you know wouldn't betray you and get you back to your family."

“It isn't like you think. The Wild Hunt were hunting me down to fetch me back because I ran away, they wouldn't have dared to hurt me. I run away a lot, when I am bored. I didn’t want to get in trouble, I missed a really important dinner that first night when I was supposed to play for the family, ruined my clothes and got hurt. Everyone would have been mad at me. I thought you and John would be in danger from them, especially if they knew you had me and thought you were keeping me from them because I had been gone too long. They are like a special security detail, they take care of any problems that may threaten the family, and can become overzealous in their duties. But I messed up. By now they are probably expecting a ransom call, they’ll be on super high alert. You can't just walk in, give me back and expect to leave again. They’ll think you’re a threat and you will never make it back out the front door. My whole family is holding a reunion and conference, they are literally everywhere, and so are their bodyguards. Spook one and they will all come charging in. 

If I say 'mafia' you have a pretty good idea about what I mean when I say that my family is just as rich, influential, widespread, and well connected. They aren't criminally affiliated that I know of, but they can be just as dangerous. They also have very strict rules about children and letting them be young, curious and adventurous for as long as possible. They wouldn't permit any sort of harm to come to John, they wouldn't even really look at him either, they would think he's too young for real trouble. If he stays quiet and polite they won't question his presence no matter where he ends up. He could take me back.”

 

Soon after, Sherlock was being carried in Hamish Watson's arms, set in a car with John, and driven to the hotel at the other side of the island.

It itched under Sherlock's skin, the deceit of it all, but he had no choice, he’d lose John forever otherwise. When they arrived in the parking lot they watched the crowds grouped up in small clusters chatting outside for several minutes.

"There, the old woman in the green and brown sitting on the bench. That is  _ Bisnonna _ Gaia, my great grandmother, family Matriarch. John, don't rush, just walk towards the front door like you are staying there, go over and take her hand and just whisper ' _ Bisnonna _ , Sherlock wants to see you.' and then walk away. She'll follow you without raising a fuss to the others.”

John did as asked and Sherlock was returned to his family, but not before Sherlock had thrown his arms around John’s neck and given him the biggest tearful hug, thanked him for being wonderful and apologizing for causing trouble. John had hugged him back with a light smile and told him he was happy to help, and even gave Sherlock his phone number and address, maybe they could visit once they were back in England. Sherlock had every intention of doing so.   
  
  
  


*****************************************

Sherlock and John became pen pals for awhile and Sherlock even called him a couple of times and basked in the warmth of John’s voice. But then something terrible happened that Sherlock hadn’t expected. Sherlock would never get another phone call or letter from John Watson.

It was January 15th, 1991 when the Watsons got the news. Hamish David Watson had been killed in action in the Persian Gulf and John felt his insides go cold as their world crashed in around them. He tried, he tried so very hard to keep everyone together, this is what his dad had been training him for, to always be prepared in the face of a crisis, to be strong and stalwart, and never give in, but though Harry clung to him, their mother was lost in her grief. His dad had prepared for everything, life insurance, the funeral costs, even insurance to make sure the house was immediately paid off so they wouldn’t have to worry about it. 

But nothing could have been done to prepare for his wife to have a mental breakdown due to depression. She was shipped to a mental institution for her own safety, while John and Harry were shipped off to relatives, separate relatives, since no one wanted to take in two kids at once. There was even talk of the relations selling the house in order to cover costs. John refused to let them. It was his family’s house. He wouldn’t give it up. 

John’s family was destroyed and there was nothing for him to protect and no one to protect him, and he couldn't stand it. He'd been raised a Christian and was dutifully taken to the church when he asked his aunt to, but the place left him feeling cold and even more empty. What kind of God would do this to them? How could a loving God destroy them with barely a whim, and why? His father had been such a wonderful man, and his mother had been kind and gentle and cared so much, why do this? It was then that the doubts crept in. There wasn't. No benevolent being that cared about anyone would do this to them, which meant that there wasn't a reason behind it, it was just bad luck, and no amount of praying was ever going to fix anything, because there was no one to hear. There was no God, not for him, and so it was that at the tender age of thirteen, just a month before his fourteenth birthday, John Watson lost his faith.

 

*************************************

Sherlock was almost eight and a half years old when a gut wrenching pain ripped through his entire body and he heard a terrible and horrific screaming from somewhere, it was terrible enough that he imagined it was exactly what it would sound like if someone was being murdered. It would be days before he realized that he had been the one screaming. He'd lost his voice for over a month because of it, not that he was aware of anything. He was in and out of fever for three weeks, he couldn't even raise his arms or legs, and they fed him through a tube. He didn't notice any of it. He noticed only the pain, the fear, and the despair, both his and John's.

The warm bright place that John Watson had occupied inside of him was burning through him like acid and he had no other followers. John's faith was disappearing and Sherlock probably wouldn't survive without it, so he wished that his parents would just be merciful and end his suffering. He could feel John's agony and sorrow, he tried so hard to reach out to him, to assure him that he was there, that he wasn't alone, he had promised John that he wouldn't leave him alone, but he was too weakened to move, let alone to travel to his devotee's side. John hadn't requested his presence either, he hadn't made any prayers whatsoever, there was only pain, despair, loneliness, and hopelessness.

He couldn't even focus on his Mother's weeping or his Father or Brother holding his hand. All of them had been begging him to Forsake John, the one thing that would end his pain and maybe even save his life, there might be another devotee he just wasn't aware of yet, but he knew of nothing else except John, and he could never do that. John was his, his true devout, he wouldn't abandon him, even if that meant being abandoned in turn. He had hurt John even though he hadn’t meant to, failed him, and this was the consequence of that. He wouldn’t fail him again. He was a godling of Truth, he wouldn't have his promise be proven false. 

Sherlock grew weaker and weaker, the room grew dimmer and more narrow, until finally he knew only darkness, and felt only as if he were floating over his own body. That's when he dreamed.

He dreamed of John, crying all alone on his bed. Sherlock was lying beside him and curled close around his hand even though he couldn't be seen or felt.

"I'm here, I haven't left you, I'll never leave you even if it kills me. I won't abandon you, you who were so brave and full of truth and strength and courage. My Honest John, I love you. I know you are sad and hurt, believe me if I could undo it I would, for your sake, but controlling or ordering Death is beyond my control. Only know I had no part in it, I would never hurt you like that, I wouldn't, not for anything. You haven't done anything wrong. It's alright if you don't really believe right now, as long as someday you will, as long as there is still hope, as long as you don't forsake me, that will be enough. I don't want to die without ever seeing you again. Please John, don't forsake me."

John's hand suddenly tightened around his with a quiet gasp. His eyes were open and he was looking straight at Sherlock and he looked completely startled to see him there. "You're hurt!"

"Yes, though 'dying' would be more accurate in Truth."

"No, don't die, don't you dare die too! Please, please don't die! I can’t lose anyone else!"

"Do you really want to save me again John? You're the only one who can, only you."

"Of course! What do I have to do?" John sat up in the bed and pulled Sherlock into his arms. Sherlock curled against John’s chest, listening to the steady beat of that stalwart heart, fierce and brave as a lion.

"Don't forsake me, please don't forsake me John."

"I won't, I promise, how do I help you?"

Sherlock smiled at the small promise, clung to it tightly no matter how fragile.

"Say my name, make me real, as long as I am real to you, I can't die."

"Sh- Oh no, I-I've forgotten it."

Sherlock wasn’t surprised. He had nearly faded from existence entirely by this point. His name was the only thing left. This was truly his last hope, but even if it didn’t work, the pain had stopped by being here in John’s arms again, even though John's loos of faith was also the thing that was killing him.

"Sherlock." He said with a small smile as he looked at those lovely blue eyes and tried to decide exactly what shade of blue they were.

"Sherlock. Sherlock Sherlock Sherlock. Don't die Sherlock, please don’t die."

Sherlock smiled as John said his name. "I won't as long as you don't want me to. You can stop believing in the Christian's God all you want to, all of the major ones tend to be pretentious pompous windbags in my experience, and I was never going to share you anyways. But I'm not Him, don't ever think that I am. We are totally separate. I'm your Sherlock, I'm just for you. I don't care if no one else ever believes in me, as long as you do. You're enough John, you're the one I love and want above anyone else." 

And he pulled John down to him and kissed his forehead, claiming this most precious soul as his own, and then whispered his True Name into John's ear, trusting him with everything. He had nothing left to lose.

"Anytime you even whisper that name, I'll know it. It will give me life and strength and power, you could even kill me with it if you did it right. That Name is my power, everything that I am. It's my true strength, and it's yours to use however you see fit. I trust you John. Please believe in me, make me real and I will never fail you, I will never leave you."

John was shaking, he could feel the power of that name when Sherlock had said it, a true Word of Power. John leaned close and whispered Sherlock's True Name into his ear over and over and over again, infusing Sherlock with strength and life and promise, and the beautiful renewal that was John Watson. John said it again and Sherlock shivered.

"You're real to me Sherlock, I won't ever let you die."

"Thank you John. I won't let you die either, I promise." And the world grew dark again.

 

*********************************

Sherlock heard sobbing, outright grief filled sobbing, as if from far away and getting closer. The world gradually faded back in, and he found himself standing in his room and looking down at his body. His mother was sobbing, Mycroft and his father were both crying too, and he himself lay so still in the bed. Too still. No movement, no breath. He understood what was happening and forced himself back into his body before he lost the fragile connection. 

His physical self gasped in a deep breath, loud enough for them all to hear it easily, and then he retreated to his mind palace to put this newest encounter with John somewhere where it could never be forgotten. He stayed, longer than he had meant to, and once every nuance of the encounter he could possibly preserve was saved perfectly, only then did he come back to the world fully, and was aware and alert and understanding everything around him even though his eyes were closed and he couldn’t move. It was like being asleep and aware that you are sleeping at the same time. It was two days before he could open his eyes, and even then it was only to shut them again. Two more and he was slowly on the mend, but weaker than a newborn kitten.

It would be two years before he was no longer nearly fully bedridden. He wrote to John, when he was strong enough, but he never heard back from him, and the phone number no longer worked. This depressed him greatly and he missed John very much. He wondered if perhaps he was being forgotten anyway. Sherlock was very heartsick and even the smallest tasks seemed to require extreme effort. 

It would be over five years before he was even halfway recovered, a full decade before he could move freely without pain, but the lethargy and lassitude would never really leave him, even though they were interspersed with periods of manic movement. He was also prone to fits of temper and frustration, especially on bad days where he felt useless. During those times no one could approach him at all without becoming the victim of his sharp tongue tearing them to shreds.

John's faith was damaged, extremely weak, and Sherlock's parents, to prevent a relapse into dangerous territory, they did what they could. Relative closeness to one's true devout would always give a deity strength, and so Sherlock's parents tracked John Watson down and enrolled Sherlock in his school with an assumed name and a face to match. Appearance modification was a skill every deity possessed, a handy trick for living throughout the ages. Sherlock still didn't like the deception of it all, but his parents made him view it differently, as showing people different aspects of himself, with different names associated with them. A popular trend for gaining strength in certain regions by focusing on one strength, if another trait would lose you those same followers. 

And so Sherlock was Francis Fairweather, a many years younger child who John saved from bullies, and David Bairn, who was in the year below John, and they never met, but John often passed him in the halls. He was Phillip Kinkaid, the smartest boy in the whole school, and Johnson Parks, a substitute Chemistry teacher who stayed the entire semester and who John adored, and Thomas Greenfeld who sat next to John in fourth year, even though they didn't really talk. Also Howard Thompson, a rebel troublemaker who John tutored in maths, and Cheryl Locksford, a brunette girl who had a bit of a crush on him that waved to him in the halls. 

The list went on and on through second form and uni, and even medschool. There was hardly a day that went by where John didn't encounter three or more aspects of Sherlock, and the simple fact that John acknowledged him, his presence, his reality, gave Sherlock strength and life and helped him recover and get out of pain. Talking with John was discouraged as his true self, so the moments that John  _ did _ rarely speak to one of his aspects, they were precious and cherished. The time he was tutored in maths was the closest he allowed himself to get. He couldn't get too close, but even being as close as he was, it was enough for now. Until the time came for John to graduate medschool, and Sherlock was currently Victor Trevor, two years younger than John and a year below, and they often studied in the library near each other, but hadn’t ever really spoken.

 

*********************************

Sherlock knew it was a supremely bad idea, especially if it went badly, because it could undo so many years of hard work in moments, but he also knew where John was going, into the army, into WAR and there was no way that Sherlock could follow, it was against his nature, it would only weaken him, and his base of power was in London. It was an awful idea, but he had to take the chance, to let John know in some way, that he wasn't forsaken, or forgotten, and to do that he needed to touch him.

The note was obscure, except for a request to meet in a rather secluded spot at a time of day when no one else tended to be around. Part of him thought that John wouldn't actually show up, but the rest of him hoped, and that hope paid off. John appeared, looking ready for anything, perhaps a fight, so when he saw Victor Trevor calmly sitting on the grass waiting for him and looking up at him expectantly, perhaps even nervously, it was obvious it hadn't been what he had expected.

“Oh, it's you Victor, what's wrong?”

“Nothing's wrong, not really. I just, I really wanted to talk to you before you left, and I didn't want a group of idiots watching me make a fool of myself.”

“Oh and how would you do that?”

“Trust me I am sure I'll manage it.  _ People _ and  _ talking _ aren't exactly my strong suits.”

John settled down into the grass beside him. “So what is your strong suit?”

“Physics and science, the very antithesis of  _ feelings, _ so imagine my surprise when that's what trips me up in life.”

“I can imagine.”

“So you can also imagine the difficulty I have in  _ talking  _ about them. If you could just hear me out until the end I would be very grateful.”

“Alright.”

“I know you're leaving for the military, and I wanted to let you know, before you left, because I know I'll probably never see you again, that, that I think you are beautiful. Not just physically, but you walk into a room and you just glow, everyone's eye is always drawn to you, you're like the sun. And I wanted you to know that I had noticed. I noticed how beautiful and special you are, and I always have. I want you to come back safe because this world would be much poorer without you in it. Just the thought of you not coming back causes a pain I don't even want to think about. So I wanted you to know that there will always be at least one person who is hoping like mad everyday that you come back safe from that place, even if we never see each other again, because this world needs bright and brilliant people in the world John, and you are definitely one of them.”

“Are you trying to tell me that you have feelings for me?”

“Probably, it would make sense. You are the only person I have ever wanted to kiss.”

John smiled wryly “Sorry, I'm not gay.”

“I know you aren't, and neither am I. What does that have to do with anything? I probably qualify as some level of demisexual or asexual if we were to brutally analyze it, but that is neither here nor there. I said I wanted to kiss you, that has nothing to do with sex, or sexual orientation whatsoever. It's a sign of affection and attraction between two consenting people, and people on the whole tend to repulse me, so the chances of finding someone else in this world that I want to kiss are slim to none, and I was hoping that maybe you would indulge me before you go haring off to get shot at, and I don't have to wonder if maybe I would have liked it. Unanswered questions tend to distract me.”

“You've never kissed someone before, and you want to start with  _ me _ ?” John said with a hint of shock and awe in his voice as he settled himself beside Sherlock in the grass.

“There's no 'starting' about it, I don't expect anything about my preferences to change. It's just you. What part of ' _ people on the whole tend to repulse me _ ' didn't you understand? I want to kiss you to see if kissing someone who doesn't repulse me is an activity that I would enjoy, it's really no more complicated than that.”

“So this would be an experiment then. For Science?” John said with a smirk. Sherlock as Victor Trevor was torn between rolling his eyes or smiling back. He did both.

“It could be. And that could even be your excuse to yourself if your masculine ego needs one, 'all just an experiment'. And you won't have a walk of shame, or a wicked hangover in the morning.”

There was a strong hand on his cheek and Sherlock's breath caught in his throat as John was suddenly  _ right there _ . The space between their faces was shrinking at an alarming rate, and Sherlock could feel his pulse start hammering out a vicious staccato.

“I'll kiss you on one condition. After I do, you have to come out to dinner with me, and maybe even coffee after that, and if you liked kissing me the first time, you'll have to do it again at the end of the night. Because if I'm going to be the only person you are ever going to kiss, then I am damn well going to make sure I do a proper bang up job of it and make sure it's something you never forget. It's a lot of responsibility to put on a bloke, so I have to do it right.”

Victor Trevor may have smiled and said 'alright' in some sort of gentle and accepting tone, but Sherlock was almost gasping and dizzy and trying to stay sane. John's entire focus was on him, seeing him, acknowledging him, accepting him, making him real, and the moment their lips touched, there were no barriers between them. John was entirely open to him, energy was pouring into his weakened self and absorbing it like a dry sponge suddenly dunked into water. Sherlock couldn't stop himself from groaning in relief, but took nothing that wasn't freely given. He wouldn't weaken John, no matter how desperate he was.

John was thorough, skilled and gentle, and it was more than an innocent peck on the lips. It firmly rested in some vague middling ground between 'gentle affection' and 'significant other you haven't seen in a week'. There was no tongue, no roaming hands besides the one in his hair, and that was obviously more for John than himself. There was nothing trying to make it sexual or more than what it was, a kiss. A long, warm, gentle, perfect kiss with John Watson. Sherlock hadn't been this happy since John had first found him in the jungle.

When they eventually parted, Sherlock almost couldn't bring himself to let go. He didn't know when he had closed his eyes, but John was smiling at him when he opened them again.

“How was that?”

“Brilliant. If you're this good at picking restaurants, I'm really in for a treat.”

John laughed and everything was fine, there was no awkwardness, no shuffling around each other. They had kissed and it was brilliant, and it was fine, it was all fine.

They had a light dinner and coffee at a very nice cafe, and then ice cream a few streets down that they enjoyed while walking through the park. Neither one of them mentioning the fact that they were holding hands by the time they stepped foot in the park. It was easy going, natural, perfect. And when John followed him into Victor's flat and they paused inside, there was no hesitation as John leaned forward again and kissed him lightly on the lips, and the jaw, and the neck, and Sherlock as Victor, could barely do anything more than to try and remember how to breathe. There was no rush, no hurry, he let John set the pace, and two hours later they were still kissing, though by that time they were full on snogging, John on top of him and actually rutting against him, and John was aroused and so close to tipping over the edge, that it would have been cruel to keep him on it any longer. As Sherlock's hand wandered down, stroking lightly over the straining bulge in John's pant's, He whispered in his ear. 

“Come for me John, it's alright to give in, give it to me, let me see you as you come, please.” And John moaned in release and shivered as he gave in, orgasming and plundering Sherlock's mouth with his tongue as he came, whispering Victor’s name, and Sherlock was grateful for the distraction, because the energy that slammed into him from John was nearly enough to make him pass out with the strength and pleasure of it.

All of Sherlock’s pain and weariness faded away and he whispered a worshipful “John” into his true devout’s ear that was heavy with all of the love and adoration Sherlock felt for him.

It was nothing more than the one night. He had kissed John at the door when he was ready to head home for the night, and thanked him for everything, and begged him to be safe. No exchange of numbers or email or anything else, no strings or awkwardness, just a warm memory and a blessing before a soldier went off to war.

 

**************************************************

There was enough power in that one night that Sherlock could maintain a connection to John, and did so eagerly. He only did it in dreams, but he made those dreams pleasant. Sitting beside each other in some calm, safe place, a warm hill, a picturesque beach, a stunning mountain valley, a wooded cabin porch while watching the rain. 

There were no wars to fight in those dreams, nothing much to do besides sit and talk, maybe play a game of cards, share a picnic, or a drink. They discussed science, philosophy, medical procedures, and anything else they took a shine to, but Sherlock made sure to steer clear of religion. A rejection of faith was still a rejection of him, and Sherlock couldn’t afford to relapse or lose strength now. 

Sherlock’s face was always either vague or shifting, but he always used the name of ‘Sherlock’. He knew it was working, that he truly was reaching John when he saw that John was using his name for his laptop password.For nearly seven years it was the only contact he had with John until in the middle of the night as he was composing something strong and happy that reminded him of John when he’d been a child, there was a voice suddenly in the back of his mind.

"Please God, let me live."

Sherlock bolted upright. A prayer, it was unmistakable, and only one person that could possibly have made it for him to hear. He held to that momentary faith, that promise, that prayer, and he abandoned his corporeal form as he followed it forward fully into the void. 


End file.
